


Soft Heart

by ThisCatastrophe



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Requested writing, fluff and domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:39:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14583111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisCatastrophe/pseuds/ThisCatastrophe
Summary: Requested on tumblr through an OTP meme.Prompt: GaaLee with phrase 1: “Nobody in the world has hands this soft.”





	Soft Heart

**Author's Note:**

> No CW's here, folks. Thanks for stopping by. 
> 
> If you have any requests for a ~500 word drabble fill, let me know over at [my tumblr](https://thiscatastrophe.tumblr.com) Here's the [prompt list](https://thiscatastrophe.tumblr.com/post/173576260659/45-otp-prompts) I'm working from.

They’re smooth like sea-glass, plush and lavish with what he claims is only a plain homemade lotion from his brother’s supply but may as well be the finest, rarest cream, blended with minute platinum flecks that make his hands glow in the low sunlight like molten silver. The nails are, strikingly for a Sunan shinobi and even moreso for him in particular, perpetually clean and beautifully buffed, primed to filter easily through soft black hair and down an aching, touch-starved spine. Heat, slow and building like breezy desert days, radiates from the palms, always willing to give warmth to cooler fingers.

Gaara’s hands are natural wonders, ones that Lee has always thanked his lucky stars for.

He sits at a low table in the Kazekage’s clean, high-ceilinged quarters, watching these exquisite hands draw figure eights with a long-stemmed coffee pot nestled in a pit of hot sand. The liquid inside bubbles, steams, but is not allowed to boil, only to tempt Lee with its strong, spicy scent. There are thousands of things Lee wants to say to Gaara, but none that he hasn’t said before, and none that he would allow to destroy this fleeting moment.

The Kazekage lifts the coffee from the sand pit and pours it into tall, thin cups, ceramic masterpieces from artisans in the Leaf village, paid for by Lee in a half-year’s savings and repaid by Gaara in kisses. Thick brown coffee, the color of perfect chocolate and the consistency of molten glass, fills both cups in even amounts, perfectly poured by unwavering hands. Lee can’t help but admire the two vessels, filled equally with fine and well-tempered material though contrasting in color and finish. He reaches for Gaara’s finally empty hands and finds the next entry on his list of millions of loving words.

“You have the softest hands,” he says in a voice that is somehow a proud crow and an intimate whisper all at once, “so skilled and gentle.” A foreign finger passes over a scar of its own design, many times forgiven by now. “I can tell your heart from your palms. It’s gentle.”

The loose red hair covers a face now approaching in shade; Gaara has never learned to weather Lee’s expansive praises. He says he doesn’t want to, on some level, wants to continue feeling young and smitten, but at other times he struggles valiantly to make Lee react the same way.

(As if the tiniest smile doesn’t already light Lee aflame.)

“They can’t be soft,” he says, “not past a literal sense,” but he’s already proven wrong when Lee’s lips collide with his own and the fine, soft hands take gentle handfuls of a loose green shirt.

The coffee remains cooling on the table as sun sets behind the city’s caldera, and Lee thanks his lucky stars one more time as they slowly populate the sky.


End file.
